Page 149 of Whispers and Wildfire

“Yes,” he said, his voice low. “You remember now, don’t you? We worked together for months. You were the highlight of that job, Melanie. So talented. So beautiful.”

Bile burned the back of my throat, and my stomach felt queasy. I really hoped I didn’t vomit with tape over my mouth. I’d probably choke to death before this guy could take me out.

There’d be some irony in that, though. The predator watching his intended victim gurgle and suffocate before he could finish the job.

Apparently, my flair for drama wasn’t diminished by mortal terror.

Which gave me an idea. Or at least, the beginnings of an idea. I wasn’t sure how to make it work, and my brain was still struggling to keep up. I didn’t think I’d be able to fight my way out. After my admittedly lucky blow to his nuts the first time, he’d be ready for that. It was why I didn’t remember how I got there. He’d kept me unconscious long enough to put me somewhere secure.

But I was a trained actor. Maybe I could use that.

“Unfortunately, there was another man.” He stood and tossed the playbill aside, as if it were no longer important to him. “I would have liked to have been able to do things differently, but I knew it would never work. He was a suit. A lawyer who made good money. I was just a lowly stagehandmaking minimum wage. Not even good enough to be cast in the ensemble.”

A lawyer? Had he known about my ex? Jared and I had only just started dating when I’d been in that production.

My confusion must have shown on my face, even with my mouth taped shut.

“Don’t look so surprised. Of course I knew about your boyfriend. I probably knew more about him than you did, Melanie. I knew you weren’t the only woman. You would have thanked me, eventually. I would have saved you from him.”

The fact that Jared might have been cheating on me when we were first dating would have hurt, once. But it didn’t even surprise me. And I had much bigger problems.

“I know about your new boyfriend, too.”

Don’t react. Don’t react.I wanted to fly off the mattress and castrate him for just the mention of Luke. But I didn’t want him to know that. I wanted him to think I was still groggy. So I kept my face as neutral as possible, just watching, waiting for him to continue.

“I thought I might have to get rid of him. The arrogant jerk wouldn’t leave you alone. But he doesn’t matter now. I’m sure he’ll try to find you, but he won’t. I’ve been careful. And we won’t be staying here long anyway.”

My stomach churned again. I really wanted the tape off my face. Character voices, each with their own persona, swirled through my head. What did he expect? Even more, what did he want? Who was he hoping I’d be?

Quiet guy. We’d hardly noticed him.They didn’t even see me.

The stagehand. What was his name? Damn it. He had a weird name. One I’d never heard before.

Roswell.

It popped into my head out of nowhere. I wasn’t sure if itwas some kind of auditory hallucination or if I’d actually remembered his name. But it seemed right.

I made a small noise, lifting my voice as if I were trying to ask a question.

Tilting his head again, he blinked. “Don’t ask me to untie you. That’s not happening.”

I gave my head a little shake. I’d be innocent and afraid. A little bit defiant, because he’d expect that, but also in awe of him. He wanted to be seen. Remembered.

He watched me like he was considering what to do next. I let my fear show, pleading with him with my eyes.

After a long moment, he pulled something out of his pocket and held it up.

A syringe.

“Don’t try anything.” He crouched next to me. “I don’t want to put you to sleep again, but I will I if have to.”

I nodded.

He ripped the tape off my face. It hurt like hell, but I pressed my lips together, determined not to cry out in pain. My mouth was so dry, I would have given a kidney for a glass of water. Well, not to him. But to someone who really needed one.

When I raised my eyes to meet his, I wasn’t Melanie Andolini. I wasn’t Queen Ione, with her maniacal laugh and haughty contempt, or the Southern belle with her sass, or any number of other characters I’d played whose voices were still in my head.

I was a damsel in distress. Helpless and docile. Who’d lashed out at him once and scored a lucky shot. But who would quickly learn her place and cooperate.

---